You Don't Know Me
by Gretalie Moores
Summary: Constance ponders on her last day at Witch Training College.


**Disclaimer - I do not own these Characters (with the exception of Sarah!). The wonderful Jill Murphy does. I do not own the poem either! It was on the wall at Bank Underground Station.**

**AN: Just a little one shot that came to me today.**** I've been wanting to post for a long time but I haven't had any inspiration until now. I am in the process of preparing another fic but I've quite a bit of research to do first. **

**Enjoy!**

You Don't Know Me

_**You don't know me.**_

It was never meant to be like this. Surely a student of such caliber didn't deserve this life? How did a girl from such a loving, caring upbringing come to leave this college as a former shell of herself?

Constance looked up at the woman in front of her, not really listening to what was being said.

_**You don't know anything about me.**_**  
><strong>  
>Mistress Broomhead had never asked anything about her. Not about her family, nor about her schooling, or even what her favourite subject was. Oh, she had asked plenty of Constance, or rather, demanded much of her. She didn't care that her pupil had never even considered potions as her core craft, but Constance had done as she was told.<p>

_**You don't know what I'm made of.**_

No, her mentor didn't know what she was made of. Didn't know that Constance had never felt so empowered as she did today. She didn't know that Constance had spent the past four years waiting for this moment. When she would finally be free.

_**Or just how much I'm capable of.**_

Oh yes, Constance was capable of more than Hecate Broomhead could ever imagine. If her mentor had cared to look, she would have found Constance's fingerprints on every single one of the books in the library. She would have found boxes and boxes of notes stored underneath the floorboards in Constance's dormitory. Hecate would never know just how far advanced Constance was in the world of magic. Just how close she had come to getting rid of her mentor forever.

_**You don't know where I've come from,**_

A place that Constance could never go back to. They wouldn't recognise her. The family letters had dwindled to nothing and Constance didn't want them to see how changed she was. How so unlike she was compared to the little girl who had watched her father brew potions with wide eyed adoration, who read his notes about incantations that could do things beyond her wildest dreams. The same girl who had giggled and agreed when her mother said that the only useful chanting lesson was one that was cancelled.

_**Nor where I'm heading.**_

No, Mistress Broomhead certainly did not know where Constance was headed. Cackles Academy may not be the best or the most prestigious school in the country, but it was small enough that Constance would hopefully make a lasting impact on the students without the interference of her mentor checking up on things. Hecate didn't even know the academy existed.

_**You know nothing of my highs or low.**_

Oh there had been highs, but they in no way outweighed the lows. They had gradually disappeared over the years at WTC, along with fun, frolics and friends. Constance didn't mean it to happen, but when Mistress Broomhead is your mentor, there is little time for anything or anyone else. Achievements and obedience are all that count.

_**You don't know how fast I am,**_

She would be out of there like a shot. No looking back, no returning to visit, no more wishing that things could have been different.

_**How strong I am,**_

Constance was strong alright. How else would she have survived the last few years? Each time she had been beaten back into the shell of who she was, Constance somehow found the strength to pull herself back. It took only someone with a strong mind to come back from such a defeat.

_**How resilient I am.**_

Only determination made her remain. Determination that her mentor would not take what little of her life was left. It was easy to believe that nothing could touch her. That nothing that Mistress Broomhead said or did had an effect at all. Easy to believe, but hard to endure.

_**You haven't got a clue what breakfast cereal I eat,**_

Hecate wouldn't care what breakfast cereal Constance ate. She would probably say breakfast was a waste of time. Time should be spent on studying more, of improving oneself. A practice that she had often made Constance carry out.

_**What fragrance I wear,**_

Green Tea, Elizabeth Arden. Mistress Broomhead didn't know that either. She didn't know that Constance wore it and would keep wearing it to remind her that any sort of relationship that occurred during her time at WTC wasn't worth the heartache. She would never see him again. His tombstone was proof of that.

_**Or who I'm dating.**_

Mistress Broomhead knew the answer to this. Constance would never let a male take her in that way again. You only had to recall what happened to Sarah. To think that Hecate had just stood by and laughed, trying to prove a point that men were not worth the pain. Whatever love (if you could call it that) Constance had ever felt for someone of the opposite sex was now locked away, never to see the light of day again.

_**You don't even know my name.**_

No, Hecate Broomhead did not know Constance. She didn't know what made her student tick, what she cared about and cared for. In these four years she had never bothered to find out a smidgen of information about Constance. Instead Mistress Broomhead had changed her pupil, moulded her into the robot she wanted her to be. No wonder Constance believed that she didn't feel anymore.

As Constance left the room she took one last look back at the woman who had changed her beyond all recognition. A look that contained pain, hatred, and a determination that from now on, things would be different. She closed the door.

_**But you will.**_


End file.
